


messes we make (set me up in hell)

by 10softbot



Series: thirsty [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Barebacking, Bloodplay, Blow Jobs, Hate Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 17:19:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15148070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/10softbot/pseuds/10softbot
Summary: Taeyong is a nuisance in Doyoung's life, a trainwreck if you may, and the only way Doyoung can reconcile his hatred for Taeyong is to get him begging for Doyoung to go harder.





	messes we make (set me up in hell)

**Author's Note:**

> thank you [erica](https://twitter.com/ten7s) for this spin the wheel prompt, for making me drop whatever i was doing just to write this because.. dotae. i hope you take this as an early birthday gift and i really hope you like it hehe
> 
> **note:** bloodplay in this isn't severe nor too graphically described, but still added to the tags because some people are sensitive to it.
> 
> do not repost without permission.

Doyoung isn’t messy with anything in his life. He likes to tidy everything up, to leave everything in order for every gig his band gets, and most importantly, he will never leave things unresolved with anyone ever. He isn’t problematic and mostly hates any kind of confrontation, so he always tries to keep himself out of trouble.

Stress on tries. Tries because somehow, every Friday night, every single Friday night the universe decides to get on his nerves and test his patience. It’s ridiculous to the point he should be used to it by now, but it baffles him every time he’s walking down the alley to the back entrance of the club they play on. He tries to keep his cool, to brush it off and move on with his night, but something about all that doesn’t let him.

It’s a silent push and pull hatred he can’t quite comprehend. Something about the way Taeyong is always standing on the opposite wall to the entrance of the club, by the exit of the club his own band plays, dressed in all leather, hair slicked back and cup of something alcoholic in hand as he crushes a stub of cigar with the heel of his boot on the pavement. It’s definitely something about the dirty look he gives Doyoung as he walks by and scoffs loudly just to piss him off.

Doyoung has half a mind not to push him and bang his head against the hard brick wall behind him when he grabs him by the buckle on the collar of his jacket, drags him across the alley and into the club, right into his dressing room as he purposely ignores the side glances his bandmates give him.

Taeyong giggles as he stumbles and falls back into the couch with a huff and Doyoung can feel his blood boil in his veins. Taeyong smells like cologne, whisky and cigarettes and it completely fills up the room and Doyoung’s lungs, and the smug look on his face as he taps his fingers against the couch makes Doyoung want to punch him in the face.

“What is it?” Doyoung inquires, clearly impatient and the smile on Taeyong’s lips grows a bit wider. “What’s your problem with me, huh?”

“I didn’t even do anything.” Taeyong mutters under his breath, and the pout on his lips when he speaks has Doyoung’s temple twitching.

Doyoung would find him pitiful if he wasn’t so annoying. Being pushed under the spotlight and pressured to succeed at a young age took a toll on him, and the only reason Doyoung knows that is because they have watched each other grow from a distance from always playing at similar places. Doyoung would pity the way Taeyong drinks and smokes so much to keep his stress and anxiety at bay wasn’t for the fact he lived to actively make his life a living hell.

He definitely cannot pity him, not when he doesn’t wipe the cocky smug off his face when he gestures for Doyoung to come over, pats the empty seat next to him and Doyoung doesn’t have enough self-control to stop his legs from doing so. It’s not like he wants to fight it in the first place, because Taeyong straddles his lap the moment he’s sat on the cushion.

This is something he has definitely gotten used to; the way Taeyong’s intoxicated breath fans against his face as he stares him down with deep, hazy eyes, the way his fingers find their way into Doyoung’s hair and his lips kiss down his neck, leaves a hickey right under the collar of his shirt and Doyoung is unable to keep the sigh that slips past his lips down. He’s used to the way Taeyong grinds down on him, silent pleas in the form of rushed breathing and shaky fingers as he scrapes his nails down Doyoung’s neck and over his shoulders.

Doyoung lets him be, watches in amusement as Taeyong grows desperate by the minute, silence being replaced by barely audible whines and his hips start working faster.

“You’re pathetic,” the words are heavy on his tongue and he can’t stop himself from chuckling when Taeyong whines louder. “You know that, right?”

“Sorry daddy I have been a bad boy,” he’s slurring his words and giggles again when Doyoung grips his hair tightly and pulls his head back.

“Don’t call me that,” Doyoung’s voice is a command and Taeyong stops giggling the moment his brain registers the words. He squirms on his lap, hands trying to reach for the grip on his pink locks but that only seems to make Doyoung’s hold on him tighten. He moans at that, and now Doyoung is the one smirking instead. “Don’t ever call me that again.”

“Or else?” his tone is mocking and Doyoung can physically feel the vein on his neck pulse at his words. “I’m a bad bitch, you can’t kill me.”

Doyoung is fed up with it. He is so, extremely fed up with how annoying Taeyong can be, the mocking undertones on every word he says, his lack of self-preservation and inhibition, how easily he hands himself over. He is fed up with it but maybe, just maybe, he enjoys it a little too much. Enjoys the way Taeyong writhes under his touch, how just one look from him and Taeyong is begging for more, for Doyoung to push him to his knees, to fuck him right there and it’s all too infuriating.

 This, all of this, is bad and unhealthy and Doyoung is well aware – and when he is sober enough, he is sure Taeyong knows it too – but it’s what they’ve become used to.

Doyoung gets Taeyong to shut up the moment he grinds back up on him, the fabric of his jeans rough against the leather of Taeyong’s pants, and Doyoung sighs at how hard Taeyong already is. It makes him wonder how long he’d been outside and how many cigarettes he went through waiting for Doyoung to come around. The thought makes his fingers twitch and he lets go of the pink locks to grab Taeyong by the waist instead.

He pulls Taeyong forward and the boy crashes against his chest, lips right at his ear letting out the softest, whiniest moans, sending shivers down Doyoung’s spine. He hates to admit but Taeyong is breathtaking, both his features and the way he easily switches between being the biggest brat and begging Doyoung for more.

“Is that all you know how to do?” Doyoung whispers, lips close to Taeyong’s earlobe and he has to fight himself not to nibble at the soft skin. “To beg for my cock?”

Taeyong hums at him. “I play the bass, too.” His voice cracks up and he laughs lightly at him, presses his hips down once again and Doyoung’s breath catches in his throat. “But taking your cock is definitely what I do best.”

Doyoung thumbs the boy’s lower lip, smearing his remainder lip gloss around before pushing his index and middle finger inside his mouth. He watches as Taeyong takes them in, eyes fluttering shut as his tongue works the digits inside his mouth. Doyoung loves and hates it at the same time, because he can’t keep himself from moaning at the sight before him, and that puts the smirk back on Taeyong’s lips. He definitely hates it.

It only takes Taeyong to moan around his fingers for Doyoung to lose it, to get them on their feet and slam the elder against the wall. He does it so hard the boy is momentarily gasping for air, fingers grasping at the hands on his hips in seemingly despair. Doyoung laughs, breathy, presses his knee between Taeyong’s legs and spreads them open. Pathetic, he thinks, how easily he can bend Taeyong around with no effort whatsoever.

He works on the button of his leather pants, pushes them down along with his boxers just enough to get access to Taeyong’s hole and he can feel the other shudder under his touch. He pushes his fingers back into Taeyong’s mouth and this time the boy doesn’t hesitate on coating his fingers with spit entirely. When Doyoung pulls out, there’s a string connecting his fingers to his lips and he doesn’t fight the urge to kiss said lips. They’re swollen from biting and sticky from lip gloss, and Taeyong awfully tastes like Jack Daniels and tobacco. He would complain, wasn’t for the fact Taeyong has his tongue down his throat as he whines into his mouth, hips thrusting into thin air when Doyoung’s brain goes blank for a moment.

Doyoung pushes a finger in, then two, then three and Taeyong practically cries into his neck, hands holding onto his shoulders as he tries to make his knees stop from giving way. It’s always rushed and Taeyong is ever so desperate, but they always make do and Doyoung is stunned with how Taeyong rids himself of his tight pants and boots so fast.

“Down,” Doyoung’s voice is hoarse and commanding and Taeyong sinks to his knees with no hesitance, unbuttons his pants with practiced ease and Doyoung groans when rough, cold fingers reach inside his boxers to pull his dick out.

Taeyong is easily the best head Doyoung has ever gotten. The way he swirls his tongue around him when he takes him full in one go, hollows his cheeks and moans against the head has Doyoung’s thighs shaking as he grips him by the hair. And Taeyong does it on autopilot, stills his head and relaxes his throat as he lets spit pool inside his mouth. When Doyoung thrusts into him, a moan building up his chest, spit leaks out from his mouth and Doyoung looks down at him just in time to see Taeyong’s eyelashes stick together with tears.

It coaxes him on, turns his thrusts into a hectic mess, heart beating loud against his ears. Taeyong’s hands grab him by the hips, fingers digging bruises into his flesh and Doyoung only stops thrusting into his mouth when Taeyong gags and nearly coughs back the half a bottle of Jack Daniels he had earlier, forcefully pushing Doyoung back so he’ll slip out of his mouth.

“As lovely as it is to suck your dick,” Taeyong croaks out, wiping the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand, “can we get this going so you can blow my brains out?” He pauses, licks his lips and after a moment, adds, “ _Daddy_.”

Doyoung can’t even begin to fathom his annoyance at Taeyong when he hauls him up back on his feet and pushes him against the wall again. It’s maddening, the constant switch on Taeyong’s demeanor, and Doyoung would blame it on the alcohol if he didn’t know better. He is a walking nuisance, stuck in a constant state of debauchery, a disaster waiting to happen.

A disaster that unravels under him when he hooks a leg on his arm and props him up properly, the tip of Taeyong’s toes on the floor struggling to stay in place. And, truthfully, they are an even bigger disaster when together, Taeyong a moaning mess under his hold when he spits on his cock and pushes in. He doesn’t stop until he is buried to the hilt and it feels like the air is being punched out of his lungs when Taeyong clenches around him.

“Move,” Taeyong cries out, eyes squeezed shut as he holds his breath. Doyoung curses, plants his hands flat against the wall behind him and does so, so painfully slow it’s hard even for him to handle it. And then, “ _faster._ ”

Doyoung doesn’t hesitate then, picks up his pace and Taeyong’s moan comes out as a broken sob, fingers shaking where they grip onto Doyoung’s biceps for support. He tilts his head back and it bangs loudly against the wall, a chuckle getting past his lips when pain shoots through his head. He is fucked up in ways Doyoung can’t count in one hand, wouldn’t begin to try to in fear the list would never end.

When Taeyong’s hand reach for his nape and tugs on his hair he knows he’s spacing out, readjusts their position and thrusts faster into him. It’s messy and the strain to hold Taeyong up is somewhat uncomfortable but he doesn’t mind.

Taeyong, then, pushes his head down towards his neck and Doyoung is quick to register just what he wants him to do. He licks his lips before licking the boy’s neck, a choked moan caught on his throat when Doyoung noses right where his neck meets his shoulder. He runs his tongue over the sweaty skin and his hips still when he sinks his teeth into him.

He hears Taeyong hiss under him, fingers dig into his nape, a whine that turns into a moan when his teeth rip the skin beneath them. He backs off for a moment and watches as small globs of blood form where his teeth had previously been. Doyoung feels Taeyong’s body spasm under him when he dips down to lick the blood off the wound, quick to shove his tongue down Taeyong’s throat.

“Harder,” Taeyong moans, barely audible and completely wrecked when he tastes his own blood on Doyoung’s tongue. “Just fuck me harder.”

Doyoung pulls out and hauls him about, turns him around and pushes him hard against the couch until he’s bent over the armrest. He pounds back into him and Taeyong’s body jerks forward, his leaking cock staining the fabric under him with precum. Doyoung thrusts harder into him with every thrust and his vision goes completely black every time he hits his prostate.

The heat inside the dressing room is getting too much and Doyoung can feel the sweat run down his back inside his shirt. The way Taeyong moans under him and clenches around his cock is both mind and body numbing, hips faltering when he feels the familiar knot in his stomach. He grips Taeyong’s pink locks, pulls his head up to hear him better as his thrusts go from measured to frantic and erratic.

The constant chants of _fuck_ , _harder_ and _faster_ from Taeyong sets him off and he comes without warning, fucks Taeyong through his own orgasm, thighs trembling in pleasure as he feels his cum fill Taeyong up.

It’s a mess when he pulls out and he chokes when come starts dribbling down Taeyong’s thighs. He grabs they boy’s clothes in a hurry and dresses him up, pulls the other back on his feet and blatantly ignores how hard Taeyong still is.

Taeyong, on the other hand, doesn’t. “Are you for real going to leave me like this?” By how steady his words are, despite the wetness on his eyes, Doyoung assumes the alcohol is wearing off. Wonderful.

“You,” Doyoung points at him, cheeks still flush from release, chest heaving up and down as he tries to calm down. “Get the hell out of here before I fucking choke you.” There is a telling smirk on Taeyong’s lips and Doyoung feels like he could punch him any minute. “And it’s _not_ going be in a kinky way. I’m this fucking close from snapping your neck in half.”

Taeyong huffs, runs a finger over the cut on his shoulder before pulling his shirt over it. “Fine.”

Doyoung watches as he slips his boots back on and fixes his hair in the full body mirror. Taeyong looks awful, sweaty with smeared lip gloss on his cheeks, smudged eyeliner from when he’d been quietly sobbing as Doyoung pounded into him. He fixes what he can, looks over what he can’t and walks back towards Doyoung.

There’s a smile on his lips and mischief in his eyes when he pats Doyoung on the cheek. “See you next Friday.”

Truly a walking nuisance, a disaster waiting to happen all over again.

**Author's Note:**

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